"Back off, Skippy," Rusty barked, "This area here" she drew an imaginary semi-circle with a knife-hand, "is grown up land. No kiddies allowed!"
The troop backed off and wandered somewhere else to smoke during one of our rare breaks. Rusty, aka Private-Trained Russo had that effect on people. We had been on a military training course together for many weeks at this point, and while tempers were generally short, Rusty's had never been that long to begin with!
Personally I was just as glad. Rusty and I were the 'old people' on the course, having joined the military later in life. After weeks of life in tents with people ten to fifteen years our juniors, we were getting very tired of dick and fart jokes and a general lack of discipline. When they fucked up we all paid, and Rusty and I were very done paying for the poor judgment of our mates.
"Maybe you should swing into town, if we get a leave pass this weekend," I suggested, "Blow off some steam,"
Rusty snorted. "Love to, man, but I am broke. And remember, that's IF we get a leave pass,". She was not wrong to be skeptical. Staff had a game they liked: tear up the leave pass. They would have us fill out the pass for approval, and even send it up for approval. We would get them returned on a Friday morning, and then by the afternoon we all had to hold our passes out front at arm's length. Staff would walk up and down the ranks and yell "RIP!" and you watched your plans of beer and a real bed torn up like so much paper.
In fact, staff was always playing those kinds of morale games with us. That's how Private Russo became Rusty to her course mates: "How do you plan...?" the Corporal marched up and down ranks, "To fight ze Huns..." about turn and back up the line, "With RUST! On your bayonet? RIP!" Real original, Corporal...
And that had been weeks prior. I mean, deep down Rusty and I knew the game. You can't win on a combat arms training course, but neither can you stop trying to win. That was how to get through. Fail over and over and never give up. However, I knew Rusty was close. She had gotten bad news from home, between a burned out freezer to the illness and death of her dog, all while she was a thousand miles away.
"How about this," the idea popped into my head while thinking Rusty might quit or blow her top, "If we get passes I was planning to get a room in town. Since we are both adults and professionals, how about I get a double room and you can pay the difference over what a single would cost?"
She stuck out her chin and frowned in thought for a moment. "I could probably swing it. You sure you'd be okay with that? IF we get leave passes?"
"Yeah man, it's cool," it felt good to maybe be able to help out a fellow troop.
Friday afternoon came. The staff marched us out into a gravel parking lot.
"Time to push the planet down," staff yelled. They had gotten tired of having us do push-ups and started us pushing the planet down. We cranked out an easy thirty and were back up at attention.
"Adopt the leave pass tearing position," someone yelled from behind us. Resigned, my fellows and I brought out our carefully folded passes.
The Sargent came down the line muttering to each troop, "Threads,", "Haircut,". He walked by me and looked me up and down. "Dusty boots," he finally settled on and moved down the line. I was resigned to my fate.
As the Officer gave the mandatory weekend safety brief our shoulders started to ache. Sure it's just a little piece of paper straight out in front of you, but we were always tired, always running. Never enough sleep, it all added up. I waited for him to finish and leave so staff could yell RIP and march us back to our tents.
"That is all, Troops," the Officer collected his high-five from the File Leader and crisply marched off. Everyone braced themselves.
"Whythefuckareyoustillhere? DISMISSED!" Staff started yelling and they didn't need to tell Rusty and I twice. Across the lot out eyes met: get the fuck out of Dodge!
We broke into the most enthusiastic run of the week. My long legs easily caught up to Rusty. "How long do you need?"
"Five mikes," she puffed.
"You don't want to hit the head first, clean up?" I heard girls like that sort of thing.
"Fuck that, I want a goddamned bath! I'll get a cab here right away!"
And that's how I found myself on my way to town with Russo.
The old joke in the combat trades is that they attract three kinds of women: Those who want a man, those who are running from a man, and those who want to be a man. I honestly took Rusty for the last one. She was not too tall, maybe 5'6", and she was solidly built. I don't mean fat or anything. She had muscle. It's not like the uniforms gave any hint of shape or figure to a woman, but it was obvious from the work she was able to do on the course. She kept up to most of the guys day in and day out.
She had short dirty blonde hair. Easier to take care of than the braid or bun most females went with. It was usually plastered to her head with sweat, like anyone else with hair. Rusty wasn't a girlie girl by any stretch. She was the first to rip on a guy if he wasn't carrying their share.
In adult-land we had spoken about why we had joined. I was the old 'My father and my father's father before him...' and Rusty's grandfather had apparently at one time been a crusty old sergeant major or some such, and she wanted him to be proud of her. All this to say I never really thought of Rusty as female. She was one of the boys, for the most part.
I didn't want to go to the el-cheap-o place that I knew the young'uns would be going. This was supposed to be a relaxing weekend away from the immature folks on our course. We hopped out of the cab in front of one of the nice places in town. We were dressed in civies, but with the strange tan lines that come from hours in ballistic goggles, helmet, and gloves. Not to mention dried dirt on our faces and a certain earthy scent. We dropped our kit in front of the desk and I asked for a double room. The older woman looked us up and down from above her glasses, clearly unimpressed.
"You two army?" she drawled. I nodded. "We don't serve army. Too many problems," she went on. The closest large center to a major base, the locals no doubt had lots of run-ins with rowdy troops. Rusty made an sound in her throat, like an angry cat. I just fished out my wallet and tossed a card in front of the clerk.
"Mr. Platinum here says you do," I growled. I was a grown-assed man and was not about to be refused service while serving my damned country!
